
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




010 741 863 5 




Glass. 



Book ■ !.C QlJ-Sl 



AMERICAN BOARD OF COMMISSIONERS f6b 
.V FOREIGN MISSIONS. 






MISSIOriARY PAPER5 



No. VII. 



NOTICES OF CHIPPEWAY CONVERTS. 



BOSTON: 

CROCKER & BREWSTER, PRINTERS. 
1834. 



f ff 

.cUF$ 



^HISBIONAB."^ PiJiPEB, ETO. VII. 



NOTICE OF CHIPPEWAY CONVERTS. 



The nature and excellence of the object which the 
friends oi foreign missions aim to accompiisli, cannot 
probably be shewn more plaiidy, than by an exhibition of 
he character of those individuals on whom the gospel has 
exerted its transforming power. The design of this Paper 
is to present to the patrons of missions such an exhibition 
of what has been effected, by their contributions and 
prayers, in the case of a few Indian converts. 

Such cases should be noticed, because they illustrate 
the manner in which the grace of God searches out the 
objects of his saving mercy, finding them ignorant and 
far removed from all Christian watchfulness and instruc- 
tion, directing their way amidst the most inauspicious 
circumstances, and at last bringing them under the sound 
of the gospel, and renewing their hearts. 

It «s interesting to see how the truths of the gospel, 
applied by the Holy Spirit, operate, when first presented 
to minds which have grown to some maturity in ignoratjce 
of them; and to observe the analogy between the feelings 
of those under the induences of the Spirit, among the 
heathen, and of those who are operated upon by the sane 
Spirit, in the congregation;? of a Cfiristian land. There 
IS manifested the same view of the human character, of 
the need of divine aid, of the guilt of sin, and of the ap- 
propriateness of the doctrines of the gospri; connectod 
with the same change ot external character, corre&pondnicr 
with the new light which has dawned on the nund, 
1 




2 Eliza, an Indian Woman. 

Such narratives also bring before the mind in a striking 
manner the contrast bttween those who are without the 
gospel, and those who enjoy its light and embrace it. 
The effects of the change on individuals and neighbor- 
hoods, for this life and the future, cannot be estimated. 
The missionary and his patrons see in these converts living 
proofs, that their work is feasible, and that God approves 
of their labors and is co-operating with them. Tliey also 
see the greatness of their work, which is to effect a similar 
change in the whole heathen population of the globe. 

[These narratives were furnished by ihe Rev. W. M. Ferry, missionary 
al Markinaw, and may be relied upon as being- authentic. The various 
iiidividuais menlioued are members of the mission family.] 



Eliza, an Indian Woman. 

Her Life, before Conversion. 

The Indian name of Eliza was O-dah-be-tuh-ghe-zhe- 
go-quai, signifynig in English the Mid-way-sky-woman, or 
the place of the sun at noon. She was born near the 
Aunee, about three hundred miles up the south shore 
of Lake Superior; and is by descent of the Chippe- 
way, or, more properly, O-jib-e-way tribe. She does 
not know her age, but is probably not far from forty-five 
years old. 

Being of influential connections, (her uncle a principal 
chief,) she was selected to become an interpreter of dreams. 
This took place when she was probably about 16 or 17 
years old. Her merits for this rank or honor must, ac- 
cording to their superstition, be decided by her living ten 
days in a separate lodge, without any other nourishment 
than a little water each night. She faithfully observed 
the prescribed abstinence, although it nearly cost her her 
life. Her bodily strength was almost exhausted; and on 
being brought out of the lodge, probably from being too 
plentifully led, she fell sick, and did not recover for several 
moons. And yet, of her own accord, soon after she got 
well, she fasted nine days more. From this time she was 
considered an extraordinary beinsf. The clan would not 
permit her to v ork, but provided for her a wigwam of 



Eliza, on Indian Woman. 3 

distinction, and constnntly supplied her with the best of 
their every thing, botli food and chjthinj. 

She was also furnished with a hirge otlrr skin, or med- 
icine sack, stored witli every necessary article, either for 
magical cure of the sick, or for interpreting dreams. This 
sack, which she caretully preserved, was her badge of 
honor; and in all their medicine dances she was greatest 
among the great. One proof of which was taking the lead 
in drinking whiskey, in this way she became so exces- 
sively intemperate, that in one of these scenes she lost her 
sack. This was duiing the last war, at the connnencement 
of which she came from Lake Superior, aiid resided on the 
main land west of Mackinaw. Another sack was provided 
her; but this she kept only about two yaars. Near this 
time she lost one of lier children, which, together with the 
loss of her second sack, and the neglect of the Indians, so 
dispirited her, that she abandoned herself to every vice. 
About nine years ago she lost another child, the third of 
four. Then for a while she listened to advice, and stopped 
drinking. But it was not long before she was allured 
away in'o the woods by an Indian man and woman, where 
whiskey had been previously carried, and there those two 
persuad'd her to drink with them. In this drunken frolic, 
throur h jealousy, as she supposes, but without any just 
provoc ition, the other woman fell u|)on her, and cutoff her 
nose. This was the greatest disgrace, in her estimation, 
that s- ft could possibly suffer. And for a long time her 
friends h.ad to watch her to keep her from destroying her 
life. Once she tri'^d to hang herself At anoth.er time, 
returning from Mackinaw, where she with other Indians 
had been for whiskey, she threw herself into the lake, but 
the Indi in in the stern caught her by the hair, and drew 
her again into the canoe. After this she began to think 
that the unknown Indian, who, as she supposed, had the 
care of her life, was unwilling that she should kill herself, 
and she ffave up all further attempts to effect it. Having 
but one child left, she now staid sometimes on the island 
of Mackinaw, and sometimes on the main land, with no 
fixed object but to get whiskey by every possible means. 

The first knowledge I had of her was in the fall of 1823. 
Soon after our school wasopened to receive children, I one 
day met her boy, and on ascertaining who he was, I went 
with an interpreter to the lodge of the mother. A wretch- 



4 Eliza, an Indian Woman. 

ediy destitute and miserable scene we witnessed. At that 
time no persuasion could induce her to let nie have her 
son. But going the second time, and the boy himself be- 
ing willing, she at length reluctantly gave her consent. 
However, in a {e\v da)s he ran away, and though I obtained 
him again, yet through the winter the mother watched for 
opportunities to get him. The following spring, more out 
of pity than for our convenience, I employed her, first in 
the kitchen, and afterwards at the sugar camp on Bois 
Blanc, a neighboring island, on condition that ^he would 
drink no whiskey and conduct herself properly. By much 
counsel and care, she did so much better than my fears, 
that 1 finally told her, that, provided she would be steady, 
and do such work as she was able, she might have a home 
with us. From that time, 1 believe, she never had but 
three or four seasons of intoxication. 

First Religious Impressions. 

It is now about three years since her serious attention 
to religion commenced, the amount of which for some 
Jength of time was very fluctuating. While under the sound 
of instruction she would be more or less afff^cted, sometimes 
to tears. For several years, during the hours of Sab!)ath 
school, we have had a separate school for Indian women 
and others, mostly under the care of Mrs F., for the pur- 
pose of reading and explaining the Scriptures, tracts, &.c. 
It was at these meetings that Eliza was often alTected; 
though aftei wards, as she says, she would throw the sub- 
ject off, and become in a measure indifferent. Again, per- 
haps, impressed with the idea that there could be no mercy 
for such a creature as she was, and the thought of her re- 
ligious state making her unhappy, she would avoid being 
present at these meetings. Under this same impression, 
she could not think it right for her to come with us to family 
worship, or to the evening meetin'Js of the females. Yet, 
she says, she ofien felt so strong a desire to hear the sound 
of prayer and singring, that she has gone to the door of the 
room, and rem;tined tliere as long as she thought she could 
without being discovered — someliines till nearly frozen. 
Most of that winter passed with such uneasiness of mind, 
that, when not daring to look to God herself for mercy, be- 
cause she was such a sinner, she would feel it a kind of re- 



Eliza, an Indian Woman. 5 

iief to overhear the worship of otiiers; as if God misfht 
possibly hear their prayers, though she was unworthy to 
be present. 

I)iirint][ the spring, while at the sug^r camp, slie says, slie 
was gre.itly distressed during the whole time. When gath- 
ering sap, she often had feeUngs like these — 'Here i am, 
going the same round daily from tree to tree, and can find 
no relief — I must always carry this wicked heart, and when 
I die be miserable forever.' — The pious Indian woman who 
had charge of the sugar camp, used to talk some with her; 
and after seasons of prayer, would perhaps ask her if she did 
not feel tiie importance of joining in heart with her. She said 
she did. And thoujrh there was to her mind no prospect of 
ever being better, yet she would, as she says, forget herself 
and feel strong desires for mercy. After her return, she 
thought, as she says, that every one must look upon her con- 
dition as a hopeless one; and, as before, she often staid 
away fi-om meetings, because she thought herself unfit to be 
there. Most of the following summer she spent at the farm, 
where at times she seemed to awake to an affecting view of 
her dreadlul state, and with such feelings that she would go 
off from the house, and pray and weep much alone: but for 
the most part slie indulged in despair, without relief 

The next fall we had unusual sickness in the family, and 
Eliza and her son were left at the farm alone for two or 
three weeks. They also were both taken sick; and probably 
suffered sotnewhat for the want ol nursing, before we were 
aware of it, and couhi bring them home. In reference to 
this time, she says, that after she was taken sick, she 
thought with herself, that she had found no relief to her 
mind in our way^ meaning that of Christians, and that she 
would again try her o/r/ wc/?/of medicijie songs; and that she 
spent the greater part of several nights in songs and lier 
former Indian mummery. After she was brought licme, 
she discontinued this; but she thinks she lost nearly all 
anxiety about her soul, and seemed to have no feeling fiir- 
ther than to take care of Joseph, her son, as he fiiled. He 
talked with her considerably, but she said she did not feel 
it much, that she was like one who had lost her senses, and 
nothing seemed to niove her feelings. A few days before 
Joseph's death, he had a long conversation with her; told 
her that he should die soon, and that he wanted her to 
promise him never to drink any more whiskey; to remain 
1* 



6 Eliza, ail Indian Woman. 

with the mission family; listen to their instructions; and 
pr'iy every day to God; then, v\hen she ditd, she would go 
to Ood with him. At first she told him that if he died she 
would die too. But Josepii said that was wrong; that it 
M'ouid not he as she said when to die; but that God only 
had a right to have her die when he wished. At length 
she promised him that she would remember and do as he 
had requested. 

Duiing the whole scene attending Joseph's death and 
funeral, her behavior was singularly calm and solemn: so 
much so, that it was noliced by all. Many a professing 
Christian mother might have received from her in that 
afflictive scene, a silent, though awful reproof, for immod- 
erate grief When she perceived that his spirit was really 
gone, the tears rolled, and she exclaiaied, 'My son! my 
son!' in Indian: but farther than this, not a complaint nor 
groan was heard to escape her lips. 

After the funeral, 1 sat down with her, and had a long 
conversation. Among other things 1 asked her, why it was 
that she appeared as she had done: whether it had been so 
at the death of her other children? To this last she said, 
no; and gave some account of her feelings and conduct — 
how she had, as is common among the Indians, wailed and 
mangled her own body in st'lf-affliction. In answer to the 
former part, she said, 'I have no such feelings now — God 
is good, and I feel that what he has done must be right.' 
Although she expressed no consciousness of the love ot God 
in her soul, yet she furnished comfortable evidence to my 
mind, that her feelings were under the sanctify in jj influence 
of the Holy Spirit. On the following niirht, as she now 
relates, while fixing her bed, all which had passed between 
her and Joseph, a few days before his death, rushed upon 
her mind like a torrent, awakening at the san^e time an 
impression that there was no hope for her soul: but in a 
moment, she determined with herselfto pray once more that 
God would have mercy. For the purpose of greater retire- 
ment, she started to go to the cellar, and while descending 
the stairs, as if sh^ could go no further, she settled down, and 
began to pour out her desires. This is the last distinct 
recollection she has of any thing that took place then. How 
or when she got back she has no knowledge. Between 11 
and 12 o'clock, I heard a distressed noise, and lighting a 
candle immediately, I went to her and found her apparently 



I 



Jb^liza, an Indian Woman, 7 

asleep; and upon awaking her, I asked if she was sick? 
she said, No; and I went hack. The first that she remftn- 
bered was seeing me with a candle in my hand. She after- 
wards, as she says, engaged in prayer again, and was then, 
for the first time, conscious of enjoyment in the love of 
Christ. The next morning her soul was so filled with love 
for all the memhers of the family, that, as she saw one and 
another, she says, she felt that her own children had 
never been so near to her heart as they. Now she felt so 
entirely reconciled to the death of Joseph, that she had no 
inclination to grieve. At times, she says, her mind would 
recur to the scene of his death; but to use her own ex- 
pressions literally interpreted, 'I felt as if I was in a nar- 
row, happy way, and if a thought came to me about Jo- 
seph, it seemed like being drawn out of this way, and I 
longed to get back again immediately.' With these happy 
feelings towards God and Christians, she now for the first 
time ihou'^ht a great deal of her own people. 'Oh if they 
could only see as 1 do, how happy would they be.' 

Adrancement in Piettj. 

When asked about the state of her mind afterwards, she 
said, '[ have always been happy in God since then. The 
more I have had a view of the love of God in Christ, and 
the longer 1 have lived, the more 1 have desired to love 
him, and to love him more and more, and to be more and 
more like him in my soul. 1 do not know that I have since 
had any sorrow of soul so great as I have had for those who 
are ignorant of God. Much sorrow I have often had for 
them. Sometimes when going into church, or while there, 
it has made me weep to think of those who do not love God. 
There has never been one day, since I found peace to my 
soul, when 1 did not feel that God was with me.' The rea- 
son which she assigns for this mercy is, that God will soon 
take her out of the world, and that he is pleased to be thus 
preparing her fi)r his presence. 'Every Sabbath,' she says 
*I have felt that this leaves me one Sabbath less to be in 
this world, and brings me one Sabbath nearer the time 
when I shall be with Christ.' 

Here, on being i)articuhirly questioned, she related three 
instances when, for a time, her mind was troubled. A 



8 Eliza, an Indian Woman. 

year ago she was reduced quite low, and one evening word 
was brought us that she was dying. On going to her room, 
shti was found to be very languid, but after some time re- 
vived, so as to be able to converse. She was questioned 
rei'diive to her views and feelings, to which she gave an- 
swers expressive of joy in tiie prospect of being soon with 
God. She answered one of the sisters to this effect, *I 
long to be gone, I want to have the tiuie come. After- 
wards she felt that she had expressed impatience, and it 
grieved her exceedingly; so that she had several seasons of 
weeping l)etween that and the following Sabbath morning. 
Another time to which she referred, she had gone to bed, 
and, as she supposes, had not slept long, when she awoke, 
and felt a desire to pray. She arose and knelt down, but 
had been eniraged but a ^q\v moments before she drowsed. 
This occurred again; but awaking the second time, she was 
alarmed at herself, and feared that her love to God was all 
dying; and so great was her distress that it banished every 
sleepy feeling. With fears and a burdened heart, she set 
about prayer in earnest; nor did she leave off until her 
tears of sorrow were turned into tears of joy. Then her 
soul was so full that she could not sleep, and the remain- 
der of the night was spent in prayer, and joy that God v/as 
with her. 

The other instance was on an occasion when the girls 
had made some remarks to her, from which she thought, 
that, as she was always sick, they and the rest of the fam- 
ily corisidered her as burdensome, and wished her away. 
This rn:ule her feel unhappy for a {aw hours, but before 
night, she obtained that relief in prayer which restored 
peace to her soul. 

I afterwards put several questions to her, which follow, 
together with her answers. 

You hive said that before you found peace in Christ, you 
did for a long tinie — for many months — feel yourself miser- 
ably wretched, and that you often prayed; was it for the 
sake of these prayers tliat God gave you peace? or was 
there any good in them? — 'No; it was because of Christ's 
pity to my soul; because he died for poor sinners; and it 
was of God's mercy that missionaries were sent to teach 
me.' — Do you mean to have me understand from all you 
have said, that you never had any fears that you were de- 
ceived; no time in which you have doubted whether you had 



Eliza, an Indian IVomari. 9 

a part in the Savior or not? 'I have always felt sure that 
God has had mercy on my soul; and the more I have 
thought of my old wicked life, it has been like one pushing 
me nearer to God: it has made me feel more humble in 
myself: and a strong desire to live only for him ' — But 
should God take away his Spirit from your heart and leave 
you to yourself what do you think would become of you? 
'I should be good for nothing.' — Have \ou any fears that 
God will ever take away his Spirit Irom your soul? — 'No.' 
— Why? — 'From what I have heard of his word, he has 
promised to keep those that trust in him; and 1 believe he 
is faithful to his word.' 

There have been several times when in your sickness 
you have been very low, and have had reason to thinUyou 
would live but a \\i\\ hours or days; have you, at none of 
these times, been unwillinj: or afraid to die? — 'No.' — Have 
you always felt, ihat if it were God's wdl, it would be a 
privilege to die, and you would be glad to have the lime 
come? 'Yes, I have. This fall, wh« n I was very sick for 
two days and nights, and felt that God only could make me 
better or take me away, I thought, if it were his will, how 
glad I should be to know that I was dying, tliat I might 
be with God.' — A year ago last spring, [1828] you was 
baptized and received into the church; can you tell me 
any thins of your feelings at that time about the ordinan- 
ces? — 'After I understood their design, that Christ liad 
commanded them, and why he had dt)ne it, I had a very 
strong desire to be baptized and to receive the sacrament; 
nor is there any thing in this world that I have felt to be 
so great a privilege. When at the table I was baptized, 
and promised solemnly to be for God, I really felt in my 
heart every word, and that I vvas now all the Lord's, and 
no more for myself or for any other. I was happier 
tlian 1 can express, in the privdege of being there with 
the love of God in my heart; and when receivincj the 
oread and wine, I felt thaj I could not be thankful enough 
to God for bringing me to the table once. I thought I 
should come there no more* but that the next time, I should 
be at God's table in heaven.' — You see that it has not 
been as you thought. You have communed several times: 
have those always been precious seasons to your soul? 
'Yes, everyone of them.' — Have they been as precious as 
the first one? — Yes: as I have heard more of the Savior, 



10 Eliza, an Lifllau Wo)n 



an. 



and bnve lonrnt more of his love from the Bible, I have 
felt each time, if possible, more and more near, and hap- 
py in him.' — Whit good do you think that baptism or the 
sacrament could do you, without a heart to love the 
Savior? — 'None. There would be no joy to my soul in 
them.' — C)u!d you ha«'e this joy and peace of which you 
have told me, if you did not, as far as you know, strive to 
.obey G h\ in all things? — 'No; I could not. Though una- 
ble to do any thin^r with my hands to help the family and 
to labor for God, it is my sincere desire daily to have my 
heart much in prayer for them and for the solvation of their 
souls; and because God lets me live, I believe he wishes 
me to be devoted in spirit to tliis.' — Do you think you love 
God and souls as much as you ought? — 'No: I try to love, 
but do not feel so much as I ought.' — When do you expect 
to have perfect love to God and souls? At first she an- 
swered, 'Never;' tliinking I meant wliile in the body. 
Afterwards she said, 'When I get to heaven.' 

Respecting llie foregoing narrative, RJr. Ferry remarks — 

I have written it as taken from the woman through an 
interpreter, and as having in part fallen under my own ob- 
servation I have scrupulously avoided any thing like a 
more favorable coloring than facts would justify. The 
statements have been read by those who have had most 
knowledge of the sut»ject of them, and of her exercises, and 
they believe that the impression which will naturally be left 
on the mind of the reader will be less striking than the 
reality. In respect to uninterrupted peace and spirituality 
of mind, the case of this woman is unlike any other which 
I ever knew. Aware that some will at once set it down 
as untrue, or a delusion, I have fiithfully tried, but in vain, 
to draw from her somethins^ which would warrant me in 
truth to cloud some part of her Christian life with doubt; 
but you might as well attempt to make her disbelieve her 
exi&tence, as to convince her that she has been left to go 
mourning the hiding of God's countenance from her soul. 
She is indeed a fjivored child, ripening fast for glory: sick 
or well, in pain or at ease, she always meets us with a 
placid, and most commonly with a smiling, countenance. 
She is afflicted with consumptive complaints, and for many 






Early Life and Conversion of C. TV. i?. 11 

months has rnised blood freely: we expected that before 
this siie would have been at rest. 

She was spared lo remain Ijefore iho mission family a montunpiil of grace 
and an example o! palit'ncc and ripening hulmess, lill Nov. 23, 1830. 

At the time of her decease, she exhibited, says Mr 
Ferry, the character of the believer triumphing in death. 
For many mouths she had been almo>t daily looking for 
her departure. Though suffering much in body, yet she 
was uniformly patient and happy. She repeatedly said, on 
the day of her death, 'I think 1 shall go to-day.' At night 
she shook hands with some of the members ot the mission 
family, and with a smile spoke of it as the last time. But 
a few minutes before her death, in allusion to David's 
words, she said she feared no evil. Surely no unbeliever, 
observing her course down the valley, could any longer 
doubt the reality of religion, or deny the importance of 
carrying the tidings of the gospel to tlie unlettered savage. 



Early Life and Conversion of C. W. R. 

A MEMBER OF THE MISSION SCHOOL AT MACKINAW, 

The Indian name of C. W. R. was Me-sai-ain-se. She 
is half Indian, though by habit of life, and by language, 
she was a full native of the wilderness, having lived far in 
the interior, south or southwest of Magdalen Island, or 
St. Michael's Point, ujwn Lake Superior. Her home, 
previous to entering the mission family, was about two days 
march distant from what is called Lac Coutree. She lived 
with an aunt, and belonged to a class, by distinction or 
ceremonies, known as the Me-ta-we. The sum.mer that 
she left home, she was to have been received as a full 
priestess or conjuress. She had gone through all the pre- 
vious mummery, and was then on the ten days singing, or 
finishing scene; when an uncle, who had given her her 
name, and hence had a right to control her, arrived, and 
said he had been told in a dream that she must not become 
one of the Me-ta-we. 'J'his was enough. All her former 
plan of life was in consequence abandoned, and he took her 
away. She was also, that summer, while with her uncle, 
one of the party in the Indian dance around the scalpi of 



12 Early Life and Conversion of C. W. R. 

some whites, murdered by those Indians who \^ ere a^ter- 
waids itnprisoned at Mackinaw. She came down with the 
traders, and was received into the family in July, 1825. 
She understood only the O-jib-e-way language, and was 
probably between fourteen and fifteen years old. 

At my request, says Mr. Ferry, she gave the account, 
(which in substance had been given to us all before,) with 
this solemn injunction, that she would give what she knew 
to be truth, and no more nor less. — It will be seen that 
there is something of sameness in the narrative, because 
1 have only felt at liberty, while following her tr ick, to 
shape her own ideas into the most intelligible English. 
From her hopeful conversion to the present time, sir hrvs 
generally enjoyed much peace of mind. She says she has 
seasons, when conscious of little spirituality, she has been 
much distressed for fear she should be deceived, because 
it was not with her as in days past: but never, she says, has 
she been conscious of such a state of feeling, thai she could 
not say from the heart, 1 am ready and willing to live and 
die for Christ. And her whole deportment has been strik- 
ingly characteristic of such a state of mind. She was re- 
ceived into church fellowship, with two other girls, at our 
communion season in April, 182S: and I presume I speak 
but the feelings of the family, when I say, that there has 
been no more faithful missionary to her friends and others, 
among us than she. The following is her account. 

'Two years ago the present summer, [182S] I began 
first to have serious thoughts about my soul. When hear- 
ing the Scriptures interpreted, what God says in them re- 
specting the wicked, and especially when hearing M. [a pi- 
ous girl in the family,] praying in the native languige hi 
tlie salvation of the poor ignorant Indians, I first began to 
think, 'Pel haps I am one of those ignorant wicked <»nes.' 
And I began to use some Catholic prayers, which [ had in 
part learnt, thinking these would do me good. But M. told 
me these were only prayers of the mouth, and P'jt riglitwith 
God; that God knew all our hearts; and that we must pray 
from our hearts as we felt, if we hoped to hive God hear 
us. With this said to me, which I supposed to be true, I 
used to try to pray. Sometimes I could only use a few 
words, and did not know what was the muter with me; 
but oftHii, in meeting and at other times, I was distressed 
with the thought, that 1 might be sent away with the wicked. 



Early Life and Conversion of C. W. R. 13 

I can now see, that I had then no sense of the wicked- 
ness of my heart. The more I heard the word of God ex- 
plained, and was questioned respecting it, and informed 
that not only our actions were bad in God's sight, but our 
thoughts and feelings were displeasing and wicked before 
him, the more was I led to look at my life, and at particu- 
lar things which I had done; and from this review, to 
think more of my heart, that there was something very bad 
and which I began to see was wicked, in my thoughts and 
feelings. 

''Preparatory to the iirst season of communion, after my 
uneasy state of mind, while helping to prepare the table 
service, I was told that none but those who loved God had 
any right or privilege at his table. I then felt as if I 
should never be permitted to come there, as I knew noth- 
ing of God. All the night follovv^ing I lay awake, distress- 
ed at the situation in which I began to see myself; and 
thought, as I had lived so long without thinking of God, or 
rather knowing that there was such a glorious Being in the 
heavens, that he would never have any thing to do with 
me; that I was too bad to have him think upon or help me. 
The next day Miss O. read, and had interpreted to the 
girls, that portion of Scripture where Christ instituted the 
supper, and explained to us the reason and design of the 
sacrament. Afterwards, when seeing the church around 
the table, with all the affecting scene before my eyes, I had 
a feeling that there was truth in these things, such as I 
had not had before. And not only was my mind more 
deeply distressed for myself; but seeing so many around 
me, (compared with the small number at the table,) who i 
supposed must be in the same wicked and dangerous con- 
dition with myself, my feelings of anguish became indescrib- 
able. On leaving church, while alone in my room, the 
thought came to my mind, 'Why need I be so distressed? 
there are no others who appear to feel as I do: perhaps it 
is because these things are new to me: when I become 
more used to them, they will not affect me so: and it may 
be that I too may come to love God,' 

''After this, while any of the family were giving me and 
the other girls instruction, 1 used often to think, 'I won't 
let these things trouble me so much.' And if at any time I 
found my mind considerably excited, I would immediately 
try to check and do away my feelings; as it were, saying 
2 



14 Early Life and Conversion of C. W. R. 

to myself, 'It is enough for me to learn little by little: I 
won't be such a fool: by and by I shall do well enough, 
when I come to know more.' With this impression I al- 
most neglected prayer. To such a degree did I give my- 
self up to this feelmg, that for a long time it was but sel- 
dom that I would attempt to pray, lest my mind should be 
too much frightened or distressed. 

''The next thing that troubled me was the parable of the 
sower, which I heard read to me, and upon which I was 
requested to meditate, and give my opinion, when I sup- 
posed I understood the meaning. This troubled me much; 
because, after fixing on what 1 supposed the way-side and 
the stony ground meant, I thought they both represented 
much of my heart: nor could I resist tlie anxiety which the 
thought pi-odaced. This state of mind remained and grew 
worse for some time, until I was arrested with this thought, 
that it might bring me to sickness, or derangement, or a 
worse evil; and 1 determined that I would try to do as far 
as possible what was right for God, and in the mean time 
would avoid indulging in anxiety-" 

Here she related a train of feelings, for several months, 
amounting to nothing essentially more favorable. The nar- 
ration exhibited a fluctuating, unhappy state; sometimes 
awaked to anxious distress under instruction, and again en- 
deavoring to settle into indifference or ease of mind. At 
one time this struggle was severe, occasioned by the death 
of a little boy in the family. At another, on the arrival of 
her relatives last summer, Miss O. asked her why she did 
not talk with and instruct them? Here her mind was again 
aroused. She says she felt in keen distress for a time, 
shuddering at the thought of showing others what to do, 
when this condemned herself. This she thought would be 
to look after a mote in their eye, with a beam in her own. 
At length, when Miss M. was lying very sick, and her 
death daily expected, she came into the room, and among 
other things Miss M. said to her, 'I suppose you are not 
willing to have me die; but if you only had a good hope in 
the Savior, it would not be long before we should meet 
again in heaven, and be forever happy together.' 

"This," said she, "came home to my heart. It was 
more than I could well endure; and I resolved that I would 
pray for mercy as long as I had life. From that time I 
was much in prayer; and often able to get little or no rest 



Ecu'ly Life and Conversion of C. TV. R. 15 

through the night. When Miss M. and Mr. F. were about 
leaving home for their journey last fall, my mind was 
deeply affected and distressed. I thought it would be right 
in God, who had been so merciful as to send him here to 
instruct us, and be as a father to us, to take away his life; 
and that I, with the other children who had not believed in 
Christ, might never see him again. How can I endure the 
thought! I will try, I will pray, and perhaps, though I 
don't deserve it, God will send him back and give mercy 
to my soul, that I may love the Savior. When I saw the 
vessel under sail, I went alone and prayed earnestly that 
God would preserve them; and that I might, if he could 
be so merciful, have a heart given me to improve the prov- 
idence of taking them away. 

"This anxiety continued. I felt after this no inclination 
to give up prayer. I often thought how 1 had promised to 
God, and were I not to do as I had promised, I should lie 
to him; and then he would have no more mercy on me. I 
felt this to be my last time, my only hope. My mind was 
so pressed, that many times I could not sleep, and was 
often compelled, as it were, to get up and seek relief in 
prayer. 

"One Wednesday evening, after meeting. Miss C. fell 
in with me, having walked out, as I also had done, and had 
a long talk with me: and though I did not express to her 
any other than anxiety of mind for salvation, yet I was 
angry. In my agony of distress and anger, I had such 
thoughts as these, "What business have you to talk so to 
met it don't concern you what becomes of my soul: you 
have not to suffer for my sins: Why not, then, let me alone, 
and not torment me.' After Mrs. C. left ine, reflecting on 
the feelings I had indulged, ] felt, if possible, worse than 
ever. Although I was aware that Mrs. C. knew nothing 
of my teelings, yet I knew they were not hid from God, 
and must be very displeasing: surely, thought I, I am lost. 

"The following Saturday evening there was a prayer- 
meeting in the girls' room; after which Miss C. made re- 
marks to this amount, 'That she was afraid sora^ of those 
professing so much anxiety, were deceived, judging from 
their conduct; for surely, if they were so anxious, they 
would have given themselves to the Savior before now.' 
This was like a knife to my heart. What can I do? At 
first, after going to the bed-room with M. and C, who were 



16 Early Life and Conversion of C. TV. R. 

also distressed, we tried to pray together. But 1 found 
this was no place for me; and the whole night I spent 
alone; now and then only awakened to keener agony from 
hearing the sobs of M. in tlie opposite room. Sabbath 
morning, leaving my room a little after day-light, I saw 
M. standing by her bed, and with a smile on her counte- 
nance, look at her little girl. The thought rushed upon 
me, that she must have found a Savior; for I had never 
seen a smile on her countenance before. [Meaning, since 
her anxiety.] Now she is going to begin a new, a happy 
Sabbath, and I am left with this wicked heart to profane 
the day! For a moment, as I heard one of the girls ex- 
claim, 'M. has found the Savior/ I felt disposed to envy 
her. But no — I thought — this is making me more wicked; 
I will try to follow her: and I left the house for the cedars, 
designing, at the time, to spend the day there, though I 
did not. 1 can give no just account of my mind through 
the Sabbath and Monday: I can only say, I had, as it 
seemed to me, every wicked feeling: my heart was so hard 
I could not weep; I could not shed a tear: it seemed a 
perfect combat. 

"Tuesday morning, after breakfast, Mr. H. came to my 
room, and talked with me a good deal: he told me this 
might perhp.ps be the last day the Lord would give me; 
and why will you not submit? He explained to me many 
verses of the Bible; and during this time my heart got 
some feeling: it seemed to melt; and I could weep. The 
whole of this day I hardly knew where or what I was. 
Sometimes I apprehended that 1 must lose my senses; and 
seeing the other girls so different from myself, for a moment 
I would half resolve to endeavor to be like them; supposing 
that otherwise I must soon be crazy. But a reacting thought 
and feeling would bring me back to all the keenness of my 
agony. Before supper T was in the girls' sewing room, 
where Miss O. read from the Bible and talked with the girls. 
I staid till I dare stay no longer, lest I should break out 
in something dreadful before them, through derangement. 
I got to my bed-room; and throwing myself on the bed, I 
lay for some time unconscious of any thing but the fire with- 
in: nor durst I even shut my eyes, for fear I should find 
myself in death, actually sinking into the flames of hell. 

"After a time, how long I doii't know, becoming more 
conscious of my state, and collected in mind, these were 



Early Life and Conversion of C TV. R. 17 

my feelings: 'I have tried every way, and all in vain: I 
cannot help myself: neither prayers nor anxiety do any 
good: they lead to no relief. It is right, it is just in God 
to destroy me: I ought to perish. He may do what he 
pleases: if he sends me to hell, let him do it: and if he 
show mercy, well: let him do just as he wishes with me.' 
Here, as in a moment, I had such a kind of one, or ivhole 
view of myself, and a willingness to be in God's hands, 
that I could lie no longer, and resolved to go in prayer, 
and throw myself for the last time at the feet of the Sa- 
vior, and solemnly beg of him to do what he would with 
me. Just at this time Eliza [an Indian pious woman in 
the family, who is the subject of the preceding narrative,] 
came and talked a good deal to me. She told me how easy 
it was to believe in the Savior if I would; and after talking 
some time said, 'We will pray together.' Here I lost all 
my burden: I felt light: a strange feeling that I cannot 
describe. — I had no thought that I loved Christ, but I was 
happy; and yet afraid to be happy; was afraid to give in- 
dulgence to these feelings: for it would be dreadful, after 
all, it appeared to me, to go to hell with no feelings of dis- 
tress about it! Rising from our knees, I was conscious of 
a smile on my countenance, which I designedly concealed 
with my handkerchief, lest Eliza should observe it. Leav- 
ing the room, Miss O. called me to her bed room to eat 
some supper prepared for me. I went, but could not eat. 
Miss O. and Miss C. urged me, and asked why I refused; 
to which I made no direct answer. When they saw that 
I either could not or would not eat, they proposed uniting 
in prayer, in which they each led in succession. Here I 
was filled with that happiness which I hoped to enjoy m 
heaven. I do not know but that my enjoyment was as 
great as it was possible for my soul to have, arising from 
a view of the love, the nearness, and the glory of the Sa- 
vior. I seemed to see it, to feel it all, in a fulness of joy 
beyond expression. At the close of prayer, my mind run 
on this hymn, 'Alas, and did my Savior bleed!' and with- 
out expressing the wish I had to hear this hymn sung, Miss 
C. in a few nioments commenced singing it. The whole 
hymn possessed mv soul in mingled joy, and wonder, and 
love. Especially the last verses, so that I was here as 
much lost to myself in the bliss of joy, as I had been 
before in the anguish of despair. Perhaps my counte- 



18 Early Life and Conversion of M. A. W. 

nance told my feelings; and Miss O. asked me if I could 
now love that Savior. I answered, I hope I do. This 
was the first intimation I had dared to give of the peace 
of my soul. But my joy had swallowed up all fear, and I 
could not resist the answer. Now I had such a love for all 
around, as well as for the Savior, that I could have folded 
them to my bosom. For two days following, night and 
day, there was little or no abatement of this happiness. I 
appeared to be in a new world": every thing led me to God: 
not an object did I see but seemed to say, 'how glorious 
and lovely is the great God.' 



Early Life and Conversion of M. A. W. 

M. is a half Indian woman, of the O-jib-e-way nation. 
She does not know her age, but she is probably between 
twenty-two and twenty-five years old. She was born at 
Fort William, or what is called the Grand Portage, on the 
northern shore of Lake Superior, where she lived till about 
four years ago. Her father was a Frenchman, and clerk 
to one of the Hudson Bay traders. He left her mother 
when M. was about four years old, and has never been 
seen by her since. About ten years afterwards her mother 
married another man, and removed with him towards the 
Rocky mountains. M. has not seen her since. She, with 
her brother, was left in the family of a trader, where she 
was required to go to a priest daily to learn the Catholic 
prayers and catechism, for the purpose of preparing to re- 
ceive baptism. This course she continued, with more or 
less regularity, for three years. 

Having passed through various scenes, she was brought 
into the mission family in August, 1826; sometime in the 
following spring was the first of her being disposed to listen 
at all to any thing said to her on the subject of religion. 
She had been often told that prayers which were merely 
repeated, but do not come from the heart, were good for 
nothing: and when she now heard Mrs. L. and another 
Indian woman speaking of their views and feelings, she 
felt that she had never had any sorrow for the sinfulness of 
her heart. When questioned, she had heretofore said that 
she never sinned against God, and she thought that we 



Early Life and Conversion of M. A. W. 19 

must be very wicked when talking so much about a sinful 
heart. This, together with what she heard from the word 
of God, made her doubt if she might not be wrong, and in 
this way she was led step by step, until she became con- 
vinced, and gave up her Catholic prayers. 

Her own mind at length became so distressed with a 
view of herself, how she had lived, how she had fought, as 
it were, against the truth, and the astonishing goodness of 
God in bringing her here against her will, that often, dur- 
ing that summer, she felt as if she knew not how to go 
about her work, or where she was. "Being at the farm, I 
became," she says, "so bad in my own view, that I could 
not bear to sit at table with the family; I often felt myself 
so unworthy that I could not eat, and had to leave the 
table. About this time Mr. H. said very little to me, and 
I thought he looked upon me as a lost soul, and that my 
conduct had been so wicked in resisting the light that 
there was no hope for me. This, though dreadful, I felt to 
be just and true, and thought I could not have too mean a 
place, unnoticed by every body. Soon after, there were 
two days in particular, that I was unable to do any thing, 
I felt so strangely distressed. The second night I could 
not go to bed at all, but spent the night in weeping and 
prayer. It appeared to me that the Savior was near, but 
still I could not go to him, could not give myself to him, 
and find peace. 

"After this, I lost all anxiety about my soul; and when 
I prayed, I had no feeling. I continued in this state with 
no perceptible change, till at a meeting for religious con- 
versation, I was questioned whether I meant to lead the 
same life I had done, or give up all for Christ: then, as in 
a moment, it seemed as if all those former feelings which 
had been my agony, rushed upon my mind; and unable to 
answer a word, I burst into tears. I remained some time, 
after all had left the room, in great distress. There I 
prayed, that if the Lord had not entirely given me up, he 
would show me more and more of my heart, and give me 
no peace until I should find it in the Savior. It was then 
that I resolved that I would seek until I found mercy. 

"On the following Saturday evening, after going to my 
room, I lay down, but could not remain in bed: I spent the 
time in prayer, and seemed to myself like one on a preci- 
pice, just ready to fall, and sometimes bewildered as if los- 



20 Early Life and Conversion of M. A. W. 

ing my reason. In the morning I threw myself on the bed, 
with a willingness to have God do with me what he would 
— to save or destroy me. I saw that as I had resisted so 
much, I had no fault to find, if he now refused to show 
mercy. But just as if some one had laid hold of me, I got 
up in a few moments and unconsciously knelt by the bed, 
where, attempting to pray, I could only thank God. He 
appeared so good, he seemed so near and so precious, that 
I could not have words fast enough. 1 felt in a new world. 
Can this be that change of which they have told me? I 
dared not think I had found it; but I was happy. I 
felt that I was so beyond expression. On going to the win- 
dow, words cannot express how good and lovely every thing 
appeared to me, as if full of God. I then concluded that 
I would take a walk for prayer. I. came down and started; 
but often had to stop in surprise, admiring every thing 
around me as if it were new. I could hardly believe I 
was in the same world, and such a season of worship was 
given me alone as I never knew till then. 

When I came back, I awoke the girl who slept with 
me, and told herl hoped I had found the Savior. She got 
up, and we united in prayer. My heart was full: every 
word came from my soul. 1 can say that I felt it. We 
then went to the room where the females of the mission 
family were. Never did they appear so to me before. I 
could not help loving them; because, as I thought, they 
loved Christ, and I could not refrain from embracing them, 
and telling them that this was the first Sabbath I had ever 
seen. They sung a hymn, and although I did not know 
how to join with them in voice, yet I did in spirit. The 
whole of the Sabbath I enjoyed very much, my mind mostly 
filled with an inexpressible view of God's goodness; and, 
being asked by some one if I could ever sin against so 
good a God, I answered, as I then felt, that I could not. 
But that answer afterwards caused me sorrow. I felt that 
I had said too much." 

The amount of her subsequent exercises shows the 
Christian with his clouds as well as sunshine. Yet, on 
the whole, her life manifests the growing Christian, and 
savors much of one that lives in the spirit of prayer. She 
was received into the church in the winter of 1828. 



LBJl'19 



